


Episode II - L'Attaque des Clones

by kjack89



Series: L’Insurrection Républicaine des Étoiles (Star Wars AU) [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Character Death, F/M, M/M, Minor Violence, Space Opera
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-31
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-04-29 04:30:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5115782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><strong>Star Wars AU.</strong> Jedi Master Valjean and his young Padawan, Fantine, are assigned to protect Chancellor Tholomyès after a series of assassination attempts by separatists. But when Valjean discovers there is far more at work than just the separatists, the very future of the Republic - and the tentative future between Fantine and Tholomyès - is in danger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Episode II - L'Attaque des Clones

**Author's Note:**

> Well, I said I would publish this sometime in October, and thankfully where I live, it's still October. 
> 
> We continue our reimagining of the Star Wars story with our favorite Les Mis characters by turning to the prequels. I decided to publish this is as one long fic instead of breaking it into chapters and episode III will be one long fic as well. This one, and probably the next, are a bit shorter than their counterparts, but, well...mostly it's because I cut out some of the unnecessary filler. #lowkeyprequelshade
> 
> As previously mentioned, this fic and, to perhaps a greater degree, the next, will diverge more from the films than the others. Hopefully the die-hard Star Wars fans among my readers won't mind too terribly the changes that I've made, and if you've never seen Star Wars, I guess you don't really need to worry!
> 
> Usual disclaimer - I own neither Les Misérables nor Star Wars. All mistakes and typos are my own.
> 
> Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos, and I will see you ~~in November~~ ...er, make that December with Episode III!

_A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far way…_

 

L’INSURRECTION RÉPUBLICAINE DES ÉTOILES

EPISODE II

L'Attaque des Clones

 

_There is unrest in the GALACTIC SENATE. Several thousand star systems have declared their intentions to secede from the Galactic Republic._

_This separatist movement, under the leadership of the mysterious Count Bamatabois, has made it difficult for the limited number of Jedi Knights to maintain peace and order in the galaxy._

_The GALACTIC SENATE, under the leadership of recently-elected Supreme Chancellor_ _Félix Tholomyès, is set to vote on the critical issue of creating an ARMY OF THE REPUBLIC to assist the overwhelmed Jedi..._

  


“Order!” Victurnien, the Senate Parliamentarian, shouted as she pounded the gavel against the podium she stood behind, the podium normally occupied by the Supreme Chancellor. “We shall have order!” As a semblance of quiet seemed to settle around the massive chamber, lined on all sides by pods occupied by the senators from all the regions of the galaxy. “My esteemed colleagues, I have just received some tragic and disturbing news. Chancellor Tholomyès has been assassinated!” 

Shocked silence filled the vast arena, and Victurnien looked down before continuing, “This grievous blow is especially person to me. I have worked closely with Chancellor Tholomyès throughout his years here. He was a great leader who fought for justice and believed in public service. His death is a great loss to us all. We will all mourn him as a relentless champion of this body, and as a dear friend.”

There was a long moment of silence, broken by Senator Bugeaud from Alsace, who moved his pod into the center of the arena. “How many more Senators will die before this civil strife ends?” he demanded, gesturing at the assembled Senators, many of whom nodded in agreement. “We must confront these rebels now, and we must have an army to do it!”

Victurnien cleared her throat. “Must I remind the Senator from Alsace that negotiations are continuing with the separatists? Peace is our objective here, not war.”

The Senator from Hérault moved her pod forward to ask, “Why weren’t the Jedi able to stop the assassination? Are we no longer safe under their protection? The Republic needs more security now, to stop any war!”

As the senators continued to shout each other down, and Victurnien pounded her gavel to no avail, another pod came to the center of the arena, and the person who spoke brought silence to the chamber again. “My noble colleagues, at all costs, we do not want war!”

Cheers broke out as Victurnien announced, “It is with great surprise and joy that the chair recognizes the Supreme Chancellor Félix Tholomyès!”

Tholomyès held up his hands for silence, staring around at the assembled senators. Though not an attractive man, there was some sort of charisma about him that drew everyone’s attention to him. “Less than an hour ago, an assassination attempt was made against my life. I was the target but, more importantly, I believe this security measure before you was the target. I have honored both the proponents and opponents of building an army, but there is someone in this body who would stop at nothing to assure this vote did not take place.” Gasps and scandalized murmurs met his proclamation, and Tholomyès let them go on for a moment before pronouncing, “But I honor most of all the rule of democracy, and the rule of law. And we _will_ have this vote. But due to the lateness of the hour and the seriousness of this motion, we will take up these matters tomorrow. Until then, the Senate stands adjourned.”

The murmurs throughout the chamber turned to a dull roar as the Senators dispersed, and Tholomyès glanced over at Victurnien, who frowned slightly, and opened her mouth as if to speak, but Tholomyès shook his head, looking over her shoulder as the figures standing on the distant platform. “We will discuss the vote later,” he told her in undertones, something tightening in his expression. “I need to go speak to some old friends.”

* * *

 

“To see you alive is a good thing,” the small green creature with pointed ears pronounced as he settled in to the seat across from Tholomyès’s in his office. “Too close a call this was, and too important a vote this is.”

Tholomyès smiled slightly, though it did not reach his eyes. “I cannot hold off the vote any longer, I am afraid, Master Myriel,” he said, glancing from the green Jedi to the two flanking him. “Masters Magloire and Baptistine, surely you’ve seen that more and more star systems are joining the separatists.”

Magloire inclined her head, the overhead light gleaming off the dark, shaved skin. “If they do break away **—** ” she started, but Tholomyès shook his head, his eyes flashing as he interrupted hotly.

“No!” he insisted, his hand curling into a fist on his desk. “I will _not_ let that happen!”

Magloire merely raised a dark eyebrow at the outburst before continuing smoothly, “But if they do, you must realize that there aren’t enough Jedi to protect the Republic. We are peacekeepers, not soldiers.”

For a moment, it looked as if Tholomyès might protest, but instead he turned to Myriel. “Myriel, do you think it will come to war?”

Myriel closed his eyes and shook his head slowly. “If break away the separatists do, worse than war will come, I fear...much worse.”

Magloire leaned forward, frowning at Myriel. “What do you sense, Master?” she asked.

“Impossible to see,” Myriel muttered, shaking his head again, his eyes still shut. “The Dark Side clouds all. But of this I am sure **—** ” He opened his eyes, glancing at each in turn before pronouncing solemnly, “Do their duty the Jedi will.”

After a long moment, from her position over Tholomyès’s shoulder, Victurnien snorted. “This is all very well and good,” she said crisply, “but at the moment we need to figure out who was behind this attack. Do _you_ have any ideas?”

Her tone bordered on rude, and Magloire studied her for a moment before looking back at Tholomyès. “Our intelligence points to disgruntled spice miners on your home planet of Toulouse.”

Tholomyès sat back in his seat, his expression turning contemplative. “I don’t wish to disagree with the wisdom of the Jedi, but I think that it was Bamatabois.”

Surprise greeted this proclamation, as Magloire and Myriel exchanged dark glances and on Myriel’s other side, Baptistine snorted before speaking for the first time, telling Tholomyès dismissively, “Bamatabois is a political idealist, not a murderer.”

“Baptistine is right,” Magloire said. “Bamatabois was once a Jedi. He wouldn’t be capable of assassinating anyone, and while he separated from our order for a variety of reasons, it still isn’t in his character.”

Tholomyès made as if to retort but stayed silent when Myriel raised a hand. “In dark times nothing is what it appears to be,” he said quietly. “The fact remains, Chancellor, in grave danger you are.”

Victurnien cleared her throat before suggesting delicately, “Master Jedi, may I suggest that the Chancellor be placed under the protection of your graces?”

“What?” Tholomyès interjected, frowning as he twisted in his seat to stare at Victurnien. “That’s hardly a wise use of the Jedi’s manpower during these tumultuous times, and besides, I do not believe the **—** ”

“ **—** the situation is that serious,” Magloire finished, sitting back in her seat and looking contemplative. “I must agree with Victurnien. This latest assassination attempt means the situation is indeed more serious than we realized, and I fear that if you _were_ killed, it would only serve to push the galaxy into war.”

Again Tholomyès looked as if he would argue, but instead slumped, looking defeated. Victurnien nodded at Baptistine before stating, “Perhaps if it was someone you knew  **—**  Master Jean Valjean, perhaps? You must remember him from his assistance to Toulouse during the blockade conflict.”

Baptistine nodded slowly. “He has just returned from a mission which makes the timing excellent.” She looked at Tholomyès and assured him, “Master Valjean is one of our best Jedi. He and his padawan learner Fantine will report to your private chambers this evening.”

With that, the Jedi stood, bowing to Tholomyès, who rose as well, his expression carefully blank as he returned their bows. Then he and Victurnien watched them leave before turning to look at each other, Tholomyès’s face breaking into a slight smile. “You played your role well, my friend.”

Victurnien smiled as well, though it was quickly replaced with a curious look. “As much as I appreciate that, Chancellor, I don’t know yet what that role _was_ exactly. What was so important about getting Master Valjean to be assigned to your security detail?”

“All in good time,” Tholomyès told her smoothly, sitting back down at his desk and steepling his fingers in front of him. “All in good time.” 

* * *

 

The door to Tholomyès's chamber swished open, and he glanced up, smiling at the two figures who entered. Before he could speak, the two stopped and bowed, and the older of the two straightened first, a small smile crossing his bearded face. "Chancellor Tholomyès," he said. "It is nice to see you again."

"And you, Master Valjean," Tholomyès said warmly. "It has been far too long. I'm so glad that our paths once again crossed, but I must warn you that I think your presence here is unnecessary."

Valjean inclined his head, his expression neutral. "I'm sure the Jedi Council has their reasons," he said before gesturing to the blonde-haired woman at his side. "You may remember my padawan, Fantine."

“I remember a certain blonde-haired girl, certainly,” Tholomyès said, smiling warmly at Fantine, who returned his smile a little shyly, tucking a strand of her radiant blonde hair behind her ear, “but this beautiful woman cannot possibly be her.” He reached out for Fantine’s hand, bringing it up to his lips and kissing her knuckles lightly. “It is nonetheless good to see you again, Fantine.”

Fantine blushed but made no attempt to pull her hand away, only moving when Valjean cleared his throat disapprovingly. Valjean flashed a smile at Valjean, who did not return it. “While I appreciate you being here, what I need more than security is answers. I want to know who is trying to kill me.”

Valjean frowned slightly. “We’re here to protect you, Chancellor, not to start an investigation.”

“There’s no reason we can’t do both,” Fantine said, softly, and when Valjean shot her a look, she blushed even deeper and dropped her eyes, though she continued determinedly, “I meant in the interest of protecting the Chancellor, Master, of course.”

Shaking his head, Valjean said sternly, “We are not going to exceed our mandate, my young Padawan. I won’t go through this exercise again, Fantine  **—**  you will pay attention to my lead.”

“But **—** ” Fantine protested, faltering slightly at the look Valjean gave her before barreling onward. “Why else do you think we were assigned to this job, if not to find the killer? Protection is a job for local security, not Jedi. It’s overkill, Master. Investigation is implied in our mandate.”

Valjean fixed Fantine with a stare, and after a long moment, Fantine looked away. Valjean took a deep breath before telling Fantine patiently, “We will do as the Council has instructed, and you will learn your place.”

Tholomyès was watching them with mild interest, his expression inscrutable as he suggested lightly, “Perhaps your presence will be enough to reveal the mysteries surrounding this threat.” His tone turned sly. “In the meantime, if you do decide that an investigation is merited, you should know that they’re keeping the remnants of my ship in storage block 601 on floor 24. Now if you will excuse me **—** ” He made an elegant leg, bowing to both of them before sweeping out of the room.

Fantine glanced back at Valjean, who looked torn between amusement and exasperation. “Must we go through this exercise again?” he asked, though his tone was teasing. “After all, I wouldn’t want it to be like that time when I had to rescue you from that nest of vipères.”

A sudden, bright smile crossed Fantine’s face, and she shot back, “Need I remind you, Master, but _I_ rescued _you_ from that pit.”

“Oh, is that so?” Valjean asked, amused. “Well, leaving that creative rewriting of history aside, I would like to point out that neither of us would have been in that situation if you had followed Jedi protocol the way that I told you too.”

Fantine frowned slightly before saying innocently, “But sir, if I recall correctly, disobeying protocol was precisely what allowed you to take me as your padawan in the first place.”

For a moment, Valjean just stared at her. Then he threw his head back, laughing. “Oh, Fantine,” he sighed, shaking his head, “if you’d spend as much time working on your saber skills as you do on your wit, you would rival Master Myriel as a swordsman.”

“I thought I already did,” Fantine said.

Valjean snorted. “Only in your mind.” His expression suddenly became serious as he looked closely at Fantine before sighing again. “Very well, I’m going to take a quick look at the ship remains, though I can’t guarantee I’ll find anything that will convince me to continue an investigation.”

Though Fantine nodded solemnly, she added, with a hint of a smile, “And I can’t guarantee that the Jedi Council won’t find out.”

Rolling his eyes, Valjean left, and Fantine let out a breath she didn’t realize she had been holding before sitting down and staring around the empty room, wondering what she was supposed to do now.

* * *

 

The vast Jedi Temple was marked by both its size and its simplicity, a simple dome silhouetted against the starry sky above Paris. On a balcony outside the building, Myriel sat crosslegged on a small stool, his eyes closed, though he nodded at Magloire as she joined him. “Why couldn’t we see this attack on the Chancellor?” Magloire asked abruptly.

If Myriel was taken aback by her tone, he did not show it, instead shrugging slightly, his eyes still closed. “Masking the future is this disturbance in the Force.”

Magloire’s brow furrowed, and she leaned against the balcony railing, “If that’s true, the prophecy is coming true, which also means that the Dark Side is growing.”

Myriel nodded slowly, opening his eyes to stare out at the horizon, troubled. “And only those who have turned to the Dark Side can sense the possibilities of the future. Only going through the Dark Side can we see.”

“It’s been ten years,” Magloire said quietly. “Ten years since the Sith first revealed themselves, and we have not seen them since. Do you think they are behind this?”

“Out there, they are,” Myriel told her. “The only certainty that is.”

Magloire sighed and turned back to Myriel. “And do you think that Valjean’s apprentice is the one mentioned in the prophecy, the one who will be able to bring balance to the Force?” 

Myriel raised his chin slightly. “Only if she chooses to follow her destiny.” 

* * *

 

Fantine stared out of the window at the bustling traffic of the galactic capital of Paris, an entire planet made up of a single, sprawling city. As the home of the Jedi Temple, she had seen it many times before, but still its vastness and never-ceasing activity took her by surprise.

“Fantine.”

She jumped and looked around wildly, feeling a little guilty that she hadn’t heard or sensed someone coming into the room. “Chancellor,” she said, bowing slightly and feeling her face burn red. “I’m sorry, I didn’t **—** ”

He waved a dismissive hand, smiling at her as he walked slowly in her direction. “Not at all, the fault is mine. I didn’t mean to startle you.” Fantine just stared at him, but Tholomyès’s smile didn’t falter as he approached. “They’re beautiful aren’t they?”

“Aren’t...what?” Fantine asked distractedly, her voice shaking slightly as Tholomyès moved even closer, close enough to radiate heat that she could feel even through her Jedi robes. 

Tholomyès leaned in so that his mouth was right next to Fantine’s ear, and she shivered when he said quietly, “The lights from the buildings. It’s like its own galaxy contained on a single planet.”

Fantine turned to face him, smiling almost in spite of herself. “Funny, I was just thinking that,” she said. “I’ve always thought it was beautiful here in the city, as if the city is its own living organism and we’re all just a tiny part of that. Like we’re the midichlorians living in a bigger being, directing it, helping it **—** ” She broke off, flushing again.

“You know, I never thought of it that way,” Tholomyès said lightly, smiling at her. “You have a very creative mind, a unique way of looking at things. The Force knows we need more of that around here, what with all these politicians.”

Though Fantine tried to laugh, she couldn’t seem to get the sound out, and instead just stared up at Tholomyès, acutely aware of how close he was. “Chancellor,” she started, but he cut her off. 

“Please,” he murmured, reaching out to brush a lock of her golden hair away from her face, his fingers warm and gentle, “call me Félix.”

She swallowed hard, and started, “Fél **—** ”, but was cut off by someone clearing his throat from the door. Fantine glanced over, saw Valjean standing there, arms crossed in front of his chest, and let out a yelp, springing back from Tholomyès, who calmly turned to look at Valjean.

“Well,” Valjean said, amusement and disapproval were warring in his voice as he raised an eyebrow at both of them, “on the one hand, Chancellor, you’re quite in luck  **—**  I found something in the wreckage.”

Tholomyès smiled broadly. “Excellent!” he said, but Valjean just shook his head, silencing him with a glance.

“On the other hand, what I found might make the situation more serious than we previously realized.” Valjean’s gaze slid to Fantine and he said, with finality, “We will see you in the morning, Chancellor.”

Tholomyès did not argue, merely bowing again before leaving the room, and Valjean frowned at Fantine, who looked as if she quite wished that the wall would swallow her whole. “So that was quite something to walk in on,” Valjean said mildly.

Fantine bit her lip before bursting, “I didn’t do anything to encourage him, I promise! I know my vows. I just...being around him is...intoxicating.”

Valjean’s frown deepened, but his tone was gentle as he told her, “Mind your thoughts, Fantine  **—**  they betray you. You’ve made a commitment to the Jedi Order, a commitment not easily broken.” Fantine nodded and looked at the ground, though she glanced back up as Valjean continued, slightly disdainfully, “And don’t forget that he’s a politician. They’re not to be trusted.”

Now Fantine scowled, and she shook her head at what seemed like an old and well-worn argument. “You’re generalizing,” she told him gently. “The Chancellor doesn’t appear to be corrupt.” 

“Or at least doesn’t appear any more corrupt than any other politician,” Valjean murmured.

Fantine rolled her eyes. “Well, _I_ think he’s a good man,” she said loyally.

Valjean met her gaze squarely. “I hope, for your sake, that you’re correct.” 

Fantine could feel herself blush again, and she looked away quickly before asking, her voice slightly strained, “So what is it you found in the wreckage?”

Valjean looked at her closely for a moment before sighing and shaking his head. “Part of an explosive device,” he said quietly. “Meaning this attack wasn’t from an outside source. It was from someone close to the Chancellor.”

Fantine’s eyes widened. “Who?” she asked, before she could stop herself.

Shaking his head, Valjean turned toward the window. “That, my young padawan, is precisely what I mean to find out.”

* * *

 

Tholomyès glared at Fantine as he threw his clothing into his valise with perhaps more force than was necessary, the early morning sun glinting through the window of his dressing chamber. “I don’t like the idea of hiding,” he spat, fury in every line of his being.

Fantine smiled at him, a calming, placating smile. “But now that the Jedi Council has ordered an investigation, Master Valjean can find whoever is behind this, which means you won’t be gone for long. We only need to return to Toulouse until we can make sure that you’re safe.”

“The Senate will vote on the ‘Military Creation Act’ while I sit on my tail in Toulouse,” Tholomyès snapped. “Do you know how long that I have worked on that?”

Though Fantine’s smile didn’t falter, the look on her face tightened slightly as she told Tholomyès, “Sometimes we have to let go of our pride and do what is requested of us.”

Tholomyès rolled his eyes. “Forgive me, but you’re young, and you don’t have a very firm grip on politics. I suggest you reserve your opinions for some other time.”

Fantine stiffened, and her smile disappeared. “Sorry, m’lord,” she muttered, looking away. “I was only trying to **—** ”

Sighing, Tholomyès managed a small smile, and reached out to grab Fantine’s hand, squeezing it gently. “Please, don’t. The fault is all mine. What I said was rude, and you didn’t deserve that.” His smile grew fonder, and before Fantine could stop him, Tholomyès leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Besides, while I may remember you as a blonde-haired girl, I must not forget that you have grown into a beautiful woman.”

Carefully, Fantine pulled her hand away from Tholomyès, and she managed a slight laugh. “Well, Master Valjean manages not to see this.” 

“Sometimes the people closest to us are the ones who find it hardest to see how we’ve grown,” Tholomyès told her.

Fantine smiled briefly at him. “But you’ve managed it.” As if realizing what she’d said, she blushed slightly and looked away. “I shouldn’t speak ill of Valjean. He’s the best mentor I could ask for, as wise as Master Myriel and as powerful as Master Magloire, and I am truly thankful to be his apprentice.” She paused, something like longing in her voice when she continued, “Still, I’m ready to take the Jedi trials, and he knows it, too! He believes I’m too...I don’t know, unpredictable. As if I don’t know my own power.”

Tholomyès smiled warmly at her. “I can only imagine how frustrating that must be,” he said, his voice low, “when I can see as plain as day how powerful you are and how in control you are  **—**  strong beyond your years.”

Fantine flushed and looked away. “Please don’t look at me like that,” she murmured, and a small frown crossed Tholomyès’s face.

“Why not?” he asked.

She met his eyes unflinchingly. “It makes me feel uncomfortable.”

Instead of looking ashamed, Tholomyès looked briefly delighted, and opened his mouth to retort, though he was cut off by the door opening and Valjean stepped inside. “Chancellor,” he said, bowing briefly to Tholomyès before straightening. “Your transport to the docking bay is ready.”

Tholomyès stepped away from Fantine, grabbing his valise and closing it with a snap. “Then I suppose there’s no point putting this off any longer, since I doubt you’ll change your mind.”

“It’s the best way to ensure your safety, Chancellor,” Valjean said, raising an eyebrow before continuing smoothly, “You’ll be traveling incognito, so ideally you will not be recognized. And in the meantime, I will get to the bottom of this plot quickly to get you back here as soon as I can.”

Tholomyès bowed shortly before telling Valjean roughly, “I will be most grateful for your speed, Master Jedi.”

Then he swept past Valjean and out the door. Fantine made as if to follow him, but Valjean caught her arm. “You need to stay put on Toulouse,” he told her, his voice quiet and serious. “Do not attract any attention, and do absolutely nothing without checking in with me or the Council.”

“Yes, Master,” Fantine said, equally quiet. 

Valjean managed a tired smile for her and let go of her arm, stepping back to bow to her. “May the Force be with you.”

Fantine smiled and bowed in return, telling him sincerely, “May the Force be with you, Master.”

Then she disappeared after Tholomyès and Valjean sighed, feeling as if his problems had only just been exacerbated instead of solved by sending Tholomyès and Fantine away together. Still, he had work to do, so he left as well, heading in the opposite direction towards the Jedi Temple where if all had gone correctly, he would discover the origin of the explosive device used on the assassination attempt.

* * *

  
  
Valjean whistled idly as he leaned against the wall in the shadow of the Jedi Temple, waiting but clearly trying not to look like he was waiting. From the opposite direction, a man approached, a man who looked remarkably similar to Valjean, though his clothes were not Jedi robes but instead the piecemeal ensembles favored by smugglers. “Nice day,” the man remarked, pausing mid-stride and speaking to no one in particular.

Rolling his eyes, Valjean straightened. “Must we go through this charade every time, Champmathieu?” he asked, though there was warmth in his voice. “We’ve cleared up the issue with the authorities, and unless you’ve done something else stupid, you’re no longer a wanted man.”

Champmathieu snorted. “Technically, _I_ was never the wanted man. Case of mistaken identity.” He pointed accusingly at Valjean. “For all I know, _you_ could be the one they were after.”

“An upstanding gentleman like myself?” Valjean asked, mock-offended, and both laughed. “But I assume you know that I’m not just here to exchange pleasantries.”

Cocking his head slightly, Champmathieu asked coolly, “So why did you come here?”

Valjean shrugged slightly. “I have unidentified object. Or, rather, an object where I know what it is, but I need to know where it’s from and who would have access to it.” Champmathieu frowned slightly, and Valjean started, “If need be, I can pay you **—** ”, but Champmathieu waved his hand dismissively.

“I still owe you after what you did for me,” Champmathieu told him. “Don’t think that I’ll forget about that so quickly.”

Valjean snorted. “Quickly? It’s been years.”

Champmathieu raised an eyebrow at him. “Years and the debt still isn’t paid,” he said coolly, before holding his hand out. “Now give it here and I’ll tell you what you’re looking at, and who you’re looking forward.”

Hesitating for only a brief moment, Valjean slowly pulled the remnant from the folds of his robe and handed it to Champmathieu, who hefted it in his hand for a moment before raising it to eye-level and squinting at it. “Well, what do you know,” he muttered, lowering it and shaking his head slightly. “I haven’t seen anything like this since I was prospecting on a moon beyond the Outer Rim.”

“So you know where it came from?” Valjean asked.

Champmathieu nodded. “Oh, yes. This baby belonged to them cloners on Rennes. See the glyphs on the side? Bet if you ran that through your fancy Jedi identification systems, it’d return squat, but I’d know those anywhere. We used to use Rennaise detonators on that moon.”

Valjean shook his head slowly. “Rennes...that doesn’t sound familiar. Is it part of the Republic?”

Shaking his head as well, Champmathieu handed the detonator piece back to Valjean. “No, it’s beyond the Outer Rim, about twelve parsecs outside Le Mans, I’d say, toward the west. It should easy to find, even for you Jedi. But you should know that the Rennaise keep to themselves. They’re cloners, and damned good ones, but they don’t care about politics, just money.”

Valjean’s hand closed around the detonator. “Well. Then I guess it’s a good thing that you didn’t charge me for this information.” Champmathieu laughed, and Valjean smiled slightly as he pocketed the remnant. “Thanks. You are, as always, a wealth of information that no one else seems to ever pick up on.” He hesitated before musing, “You know, in another life, you could have been the Jedi, and I could have been the smuggler. We are no different, you and I.”

Champmathieu laughed and shook his head. “Nah, I think we’re both right where we’re meant to be.” He held his hand out and Valjean shook it. “Good luck finding your mystery assassin.”

Valjean’s smile faded slightly. “Thanks,” he said. “I’m sure that I’m going to need it.”

* * *

 

The dim light of the Jedi Archive Room was normally soothing, but today it seemed anything but, and Valjean paused in front of a bust of a male figure with eyes that seemed almost startlingly life-like. He couldn’t help but stare, less because of the bust itself and more because he was lost in a whole other world of thought, but that strange bust seemed to ground him.

An elderly woman joined him, her features pinched but stately, and she bowed slightly before asking quietly, “Master Valjean, did you call for assistance?” Valjean merely nodded, still lost in thought, and the woman, whose nametag stated, “Boulatruelle - Chief Archivist”, glanced at the bust. “He has a powerful face, doesn’t he?” she asked, and Valjean looked at her for the first time. “Bamatabois was considered a brilliant Jedi by some.”

“By some?” Valjean questioned.

Boulatruelle smiled sharply. “He lacked respect for female Jedi,” she said primly before adding, “and he lacked respect for the Archives.”

Her tone made it impossible to tell which she considered the worse offense, and Valjean hid a slight smile, glancing back at the bust. “I never understood why he quit,” he said instead. “Only twenty Jedi have ever left the Order.”

“The Lost Twenty,” Boulatruelle sighed. “And Bamatabois, whatever his faults, was the most recent. No one likes to talk about, but one might say he was always a bit out of step with the decisions of the Council.” She cocked her head slightly. “He always wanted to become more powerful  **—**  always wanted to be the best. In the end, I think he left because he expected things to just come to him, to not have to work for it. An idler, or a dreamer, depending on your point of view.” She smiled, but it looked far more like she was bearing her teeth. “I considered him a knave.” Shaking her head, she took a step back. “But whatever he was, he is no more  **—**  he disappeared for nine or ten years, then he showed up again as the head of the separatist movement.” She managed a real smile as she looked back at Valjean. “But I’m sure you didn’t call me over here for a history lesson. Are you have a problem, Master Valjean?”

Valjean straightened and turned away from the bust. “Yes. I’m trying to find a planet system called Rennes. It doesn’t seem to be showing up on any of the Archive charts.”

“Rennes…” Boulatruelle murmured, shaking her head. “It’s not a system I’m familiar with. Let me see…” She headed to the nearest computer terminal and typed a few things in, still shaking her head. “Are you sure you have the coordinates correct?”

Nodding, Valjean pointed to an area on the computer map. “According to my information, it should be in this quadrant somewhere, just east of Le Mans.”

Boulatruelle’s brow furrowed and she murmured, more to herself than Valjean, “There are some inconsistencies here...maybe the planet you’re looking for was destroyed." 

“Wouldn’t that be on record?” Valjean asked. 

“It ought to be,” Boulatruelle muttered, shaking her head again. “I hate to say it, Master Valjean, but it looks like the system you’re searching for doesn’t exist.”  
  
Valjean frowned. “That’s impossible!” he protested. “Perhaps the Archives are incomplete.”

Boulatruelle scowled dangerously, and Valjean belatedly remembered what she had said about Bamatabois’s alleged disrespect to the Archives. “The Archives are comprehensive, my young Jedi,” she snapped. “One thing you may be absolutely sure of  **—**  it an item does not appear in our records, then it does not exist!”

With that, she turned and left, head held high. Valjean sighed and glanced back at the computer screen, his brow furrowing as he looked at the map and the missing space where Rennes should be.

* * *

 

In the gloomy light of the crowded starship hold, Fantine and Tholomyès sat closely together, sharing a bowl of unidentifiable stew. “You know, I’m looking forward to seeing Toulouse again,” Fantine said quietly. “I remember it from my brief time spent there during the blockade crisis, before I was Master Valjean’s padawan. It was very beautiful.” 

Tholomyès smiled at her, though there was something dark in his smile. “It may not be as you remember it,” he warned. “Time often changes your perspective.”

“Or time makes you more mature and thus enhances your perspective,” Fantine returned, smiling, and Tholomyès laughed lightly and shook his head. 

He stabbed a piece of meat with his fork before saying thoughtfully, “It must be difficult having sworn your life to the Jedi, to not be able to visit the places you like, or do the things you like…” He watched as Fantine swallowed, hard, before adding, “Or be with the people you love.”

Fantine looked up at him, eyes wide, before glancing away, a blush rising in her cheeks. “Are you allowed to love?” Tholomyès pressed, watching her closely. “I had heard that love was forbidden for a Jedi.”

For a long moment, Fantine was silently, then, in a voice so low Tholomyès had to strain to hear her, she said, “Attachment is forbidden. Possession is forbidden.” She looked back at Tholomyès, and her voice was stronger as she said, “Compassion, which I might define as unconditional love, is central to the Jedi code, so in that regard, you might say we’re encouraged to love.” 

“Well,” Tholomyès said, a little surprised. “That is certainly something.” He leaned in, his voice soft. “And I am certainly glad to hear it.”

He and Fantine shared a smile again and wordlessly returned to their stew, a warmth between them that hadn’t previously been there.

* * *

  
  
Under any other circumstance, Valjean would have merely stopped and smiled at the sight of the four-year-old Jedi younglings, their small faces so serious as they moved their miniature lightsabers to Myriel’s gentle command. But now, Valjean had an urgent question that could not wait for Myriel to finish his lesson, and so he headed into the training room as Myriel quietly told the children, “Younglings, enough! A visitor we have. Welcome him.”

As one, the little lightsabers powered off and the children beamed at Valjean as they chorused, “Welcome, Master Valjean!”

Valjean smiled distractedly as he bowed to Myriel. “I am sorry to disturb you, Master, but I had a question that I hoped to seek your wisdom on.” 

“What help to you can I be?” Myriel asked.

“I’m looking for a planet described to me by an old friend,” Valjean told him. “I trust him, but the system doesn’t show up on the Archive maps.”

Myriel looked at the younglings and shook his head exaggeratedly. “Lost a planet, Master Valjean has,” he said, as the younglings giggled. “How embarrassing, how embarrassing.” He smiled up at Valjean, who rolled his eyes but smiled as well, and then gestured at the children. “Gather around the map reader, younglings, clear you minds, and find Master Valjean’s missing planet, we will…”

Valjean waved his hand and the room instantly darkened before a brilliant, three-dimensional star hologram filled the small space. The children gasped at the display, and some tried to reach up and touch the nebulae and stars. Valjean walked into the display, stopping in the empty quadrant. “This is where it ought to be, but it isn’t,” he told Myriel, who nodded. “Gravity is pulling all the stars in this area inward to this spot. There should be a star here...but there isn’t.”

Humming lowly, Myriel nodded again. “Most interesting,” he said. “Gravity’s silhouette remains, but the star and all its planets have disappeared. How can this be?”

There was a brief pause before one of the children, a young Twi’lek, raised her hand, smiling toothily. “Because someone erased it from the archive memory,” she said. She pointed at the swirling planets. “If the planet blew up, the gravity would go away.”

Valjean stared, taken aback, while Myriel merely chuckled. “Truly wonderful, the mind of a child is,” he sighed, looking up at Valjean. “To the center of the pull of gravity go, and find your planet you will.”

Though Valjean nodded, his expression remained troubled. “But Master Myriel, who could have erased information from the Archive memory? Wouldn’t that be impossible?”

The smile faded on Myriel’s face, and he shook his head slowly. “Dangerous and disturbing, this puzzle is,” he told Valjean. “Only a Jedi could have erased those files. But who? And why?” He shook his head again. “Much harder to answer, those questions are. Meditate on them, I shall.”

He bowed to Valjean, who bowed back, understanding a dismissal when he saw one, but as he turned to leave, his brow furrowed even further. Myriel might meditate on the questions, but Valjean was determined to solve them, one way or another. Perhaps they would be among the answers he would find when he went to Rennes.

* * *

  
  
Fantine and Tholomyès left the starship as soon as it landed in the capital city of Toulouse, and quickly got on a water skiff heading away from the city. “Where are we going?” Fantine asked, shouting above the noise of the craft.

Tholomyès smiled at her. “We’re going to stay in the Lake Country,” he shouted back. “There are some places up there that are very isolated. It’s the most remote part of Toulouse, without many people and with a clear view of the surrounding terrain.”

Fantine looked taken aback. “I should’ve realized that,” she said. “I’m in charge of your security  **—**  I should’ve, I don’t know, been studying the terrain maps, finding a good place for us to go, or **—** ”

“Or nothing,” Tholomyès said. “This is my home. For once, Master Jedi, I suggest that you listen to me and what I think is best.”

Snorting, Fantine shook her head, a small smile creeping across her face. “You realize the implication is that on every other occasion I should _not_ listen to you,” she said, and Tholomyès rolled his eyes. Fantine laughed before asking, teasingly, “Did you always dream of a career where people were forced to listen to you?”

Tholomyès turned surprisingly serious. “Well, I can’t say I ever thought of running for elected office, but yes, I’ve always wanted people to listen to me, even from a young age.” He flashed a mischievous smile at her. “And it seemed that politics was a good way to get people to listen.” He shrugged. “I was perhaps a bit young when first I was elected.”

“The people you serve obviously think you’re doing a good job,” Fantine pointed out, examining Tholomyès closely. “They’ve continued to elect you all this time, and now you’re Supreme Chancellor.”

Tholomyès shook his head, his expression hardening. “Popular rule is not a reliable form of government,” he muttered. “The whims of the people...no planet should be ruled based on that. No galaxy.”

A small furrow appeared between Fantine’s brows, but it smoothed out quickly as she managed a smile for him. “Well, I think that the galaxy is better served with you at its helm,” she told him, suddenly shy. “I think things are going to happen in our generation that will change the galaxy in profound ways, and I’m glad you’ll be there to steer it.”

Smiling as well, Tholomyès reached out and grabbed her hand, squeezing it. “And I’m glad you’re glad,” he told her, leaning in, and Fantine found she couldn’t look away, even if she had wanted to (and she wasn’t sure she wanted to). After a long moment, Tholomyès kissed her. 

It was a gentle kiss, over almost as soon as it began, as Fantine pulled away, eyes wide as she turned to stare out at the water. “I shouldn’t have done that,” she murmured.

“I’m sorry,” Tholomyès told her, though he didn’t sound it, reaching out to run his fingers up her arm. “When I’m around you, my mind is no longer my own.” The breath seemed to hitch in Fantine’s throat, but she still did not turn to face him. “It’s just the situation,” Tholomyès continued, his voice soft, soothing, and Fantine closed her eyes briefly as he leaned in again. “The stress…” He reached out to tuck a lock of her hair behind her ear. “The view.”

He kissed her again, and this time, she made no move to pull away.

* * *

 

Valjean stood outside his starfighter, which was prepped and ready for takeoff. Myriel was seated in a floating pod, hovering a few feet above the ground, and Magloire stood nearby, her expression neutral as she looked at Valjean with narrowed eyes. “Be wary,” she warned, drawing her robes around her. “This disturbance in the Force is growing stronger.”

Though Valjean nodded, his expression tightened. “I’m worried for my Padawan,” he admitted. “She is not ready to be on her own.”

Myriel tilted his head slightly. “Confidence in this decision the Council is,” he said, though there was curiosity in his voice as he watched Valjean. 

“She has exceptional skills,” Magloire added. “The Council _is_ confident in this. This is in many ways a test for her, but it’s one that we believe she will pass. If the prophecy is true, she will be the one to bring balance to the Force.”

Valjean sighed. “Yes, but she still has much to learn. And her abilities are a burden to her, more than a Jedi twice her age could handle. I hesitate to say it, but...Masters, she should not have been given this assignment. I’m afraid Fantine won’t be able to protect the Chancellor.”

Magloire’s eyes narrowed. “Why?” she asked.

Though he hesitated again, Valjean said, a little reluctantly, “She has...an emotional attachment with him. I don’t know when it started, but she may well have been fostering it from the time when she was a child on Toulouse during the Blockade. Now she’s confused, distracted…”

Magloire looked sympathetic, but still shook her head as she told Valjean gently, “You must have faith that she will take the right path. She is stronger than you realize, Master Valjean.”

Valjean looked down, then nodded. After a long moment, he turned to climb into the starfighter, pausing on the way up to look at Myriel. “Master Myriel, have you gained any insight into whether or not this war will come about?” 

Shaking his head slowly, Myriel stared out toward the stars. “A dangerous business, probing the Dark Side is,” he murmured. “Into seclusion for days, I must go, if find an answer I will.” He turned back to Valjean and inclined his head. “May the Force be with you.”

“May the Force be with you, Master,” Valjean said formally, clambering into the cockpit and lowering the hatch, his mind already turning from his padawan to the task at hand. Fantine would be fine. He just had to trust her. She would be fine.

* * *

 

Tholomyès and Fantine ate in silence, seated at opposite ends of a long table on the veranda overlooking the vast lake. Fantine’s eyes were downcast, and she made no effort to acknowledge Tholomyès, who looked up from his cheese and pear dessert to frown at her. “Are you just going to ignore me now?” he asked.

When she appeared willing to do just that, he sighed and turned back to his plate. Suddenly without warning, the pear on his plate moved away from his knife and fork, and Tholomyès scowled at it, attempting to spear the fruit with his fork. Instead, it moved again, and Tholomyès glanced up at Fantine, who was still staring determinedly away from him. “Are you doing this?” he demanded.

Fantine couldn’t help it  **—**  a small smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said demurely, cutting off a piece of her own pear without any difficulty.

“Stop it!” Tholomyès said, when his pear again moved away from him, and Fantine laughed, a bright, clear sound that seemed to break all of the tension between them

She reached up, flexing her fingers, and Tholomyès’s pear flew away from her plate and to her, where she carefully sliced it, the pieces hovering in the air. “I’m not really supposed to do this,” she admitted. “For fun, I mean. The Force is something I’m supposed to be using seriously. Valjean would be very grumpy if he were to see that.” 

She carefully sent the pieces back to Tholomyès, who speared one in midair with his fork and ate it, smiling up at Fantine. “Well, thankfully, Valjean isn’t here, or else I imagine he’d be quite grumpy with many things you’ve done that you aren’t supposed to do.”

The smile disappeared from Fantine’s face, and she looked down again. Tholomyès sighed as the fruit fell back to his plate. “May I tell you something?” he asked.

Fantine shrugged. “I could always use my Jedi intuition and save you the trouble,” she offered in an attempted joke that fell flat. When the silence between them became strained, Fantine sighed and looked up at Tholomyès, her expression pinched. “But I can at least save you some of the trouble, because what you’re feeling, I’m feeling, too. From the moment I met you, all those years ago, a day hasn’t gone by when I haven’t thought of you, and the closer I get to you, the worse it is. The thought of not being with you makes my stomach turn over and my mouth go dry. I feel dizzy. I can’t breathe.”

Her voice turned hard, and though tears welled in her eyes, glinting in the dim candlelight, she continued steadily, “I’m haunted by the kiss you should never have given me, because no matter what we do, no matter how much this is torment to me, we _can’t_.”

For a long moment, there was silence, before Tholomyès said in a low voice, “If you are suffering this way, as much as I am, there must be something **—** ”

“I can’t.” Fantine’s voice was like a whip, with only the slightest tremble. “ _We_ can’t. It’s just not possible.”

Tholomyès shook his head. “Anything’s possible,” he said, his tone wheedling. “Fantine, please listen **—** ”

Fantine closed her eyes. “No,” she said, her voice shaking harder now. “I am studying to become a Jedi Knight. If you follow your thoughts through to conclusion, they will take us to a place we cannot go, regardless of the way we feel about each other.”

“Then you _do_ feel something,” Tholomyès said, a note of triumph in his voice, and he leaned forward. “There’s an extraordinary connection between us, and you can’t deny that.”

Opening her eyes, Fantine stared at Tholomyès, expressionless. “Jedi aren’t allowed to marry,” she said, toneless. “I swore an oath. I would be expelled from the Order, and I cannot give up on my responsibilities...especially if I’m to keep you safe.” She leaned forward as well, and the air between them seemed to crackle with tension as she told him, her voice barely more than a whisper, “This would destroy us.”

* * *

 

Heavy rain pounded the landing platform outside the huge, gleaming city in Rennes, and Valjean drew his hood over his head as he practically jogged from the ship toward the large, glass doors. “I really hope they’re friendly,” he huffed to himself, slowing to a much more dignified pace as soon as he was under the eave.

He drew up short when a tall, stately creature slowly strode out of the door, smiling beatifically at him as she bowed. “Welcome to Rennes, Master Jedi,” she said, her voice low and musical. 

“Um,” Valjean started, wiping rain out of his eyes before hastily returning her bow.

She seemed not to notice his confusion as she continued, “Everything is ready. The Prime Minister expects you.”

Valjean was instantly on alert, tensing at the simple statement. “I’m expected?” he asked warily, watching her reaction closely, but the woman’s expression didn’t change.

“Of course!” she said easily. “He is waiting to see you. After all these years, we were beginning to think you weren’t coming.” With that, she turned and walked through the glass doors, pausing to look back at him. “Please, Master Jedi. Follow me.”

 There was nothing that Valjean could do but follow her, walking through gleaming white hallways, all empty, winding towards the center of the city. They entered another door, which slid open noiselessly, and another creature, male this time, rose from his seat, smiling just as widely at Valjean, who bowed first this time. “May I present Gribier, Prime Minister of Rennes.” The tall creature bowed fluidly, still smiling, and the woman added, “And this is Master Jedi…”

She trailed off, looking expectantly at Valjean, who quickly supplied, “Jean Valjean.”

Gribier straightened and gestured for Valjean to take the seat opposite of him. “I trust you are going to enjoy your stay. We are most happy that you have arrived at the best part of the season.”

Valjean wasn’t quite sure what to say to that, unsure if this species was prone to sarcasm or not, seeing as how the torrential downpours seemed anything but like the best of any season. “Well, you’ve made me feel welcome,” he said instead. 

“And now to business,” Gribier said, his expression turning serious. “You will be delighted to hear that we are on schedule. Two hundred thousand units are ready, with another million well on the way.”

Staring blankly at him, Valjean improvised quickly, forcing a small smile on his face as he said, “That is certainly good news,” he said, hoping that this would be enough to keep Gribier talking. 

It appeared to satisfy him. “Please tell your Master Gervais that we have every confidence his order will be met on time and in full. He is well, I hope?”

If Valjean had been lost before, it was nothing compared to now. “I’m sorry,” he said slowly, his brow furrowing, “Master…?”

Gribier cleared his throat before trying again. “Jedi Master Gervais,” he pronounced carefully. “He’s still a leading member of the Jedi Council, is he not?” 

“Jedi Master Gervais was killed over ten years ago,” Valjean said slowly.

Gribier blinked. “Oh, I am sorry to hear that,” he said, genuine sorrow in his voice as he bowed his head mournfully. After a long moment, he looked back up at Valjean. “But I’m sure he would be proud of the army we’ve built for him.”

Valjean’s frown deepened. “The army?” he asked.

“Yes,” Gribier said, pride clear in his voice. “A clone army, and I must say, one of the finest we’ve ever created.”

A horrible feeling settled into the pit of Valjean’s stomach. “Tell me, Prime Minister,” he said slowly, “when my Master first contacted you about the army, did he tell you what it was for?”

Gribier laughed lightly. “Of course he did,” he said. “He said the army is for the Republic.” Valjean’s eyebrows shot up in surprise, but Gribier seemed not to notice, instead standing. “But you must be anxious to inspect the units for yourself.”

Valjean stood as well, his expression becoming more neutral. “That’s why I’m here,” he said, with false enthusiasm.

Gribier nodded at the woman, who stepped forward. “Mestienne will take you to meet first with the man we’ve based our clones on, Chabouillet, and from there you can go inspect the units.”

Mestienne stepped forward and gestured again for Valjean to follow, and after only a moment’s hesitation, Valjean bowed once more to Gribier before turning to follow Mestienne out of the room.

* * *

 

Despite the lingering tension between them, despite the kisses they should never have shared and the realization that they could never be what perhaps both wanted, Tholomyès and Fantine both seemed relaxed as they lounged on one of the islands that dotted the expansive lake. Tholomyès’s head was thrown back with laughter at something Fantine had said, and Fantine ducked her head, smiling. “You really don’t understand politics, do you?” Tholomyès asked, lying back against the grass.

Fantine lay down next to him, propping her chin on her hand as she looked at him. “I’m just not sure what there is to understand,” she admitted. “The system seems like a mess, and it’s a wonder anything gets done.”

Tholomyès made a face. “Well, I can’t say I disagree with you there,” he sighed.

“How would you have it work?” Fantine asked.

Rolling onto his side, Tholomyès looked at Fantine appraisingly before saying slowly, “Well, I think we need a system where the politicians sit down and discuss the problems, agree what’s in the best interest of the people, and then do it.”

“How is that different than what we have now?” Fantine asked. “And what would you do if people don’t agree on what’s best?”

Tholomyès smiled grimly. “Then they’d be made to.”

Fantine raised an eyebrow. “Sounds an awful lot like a dictatorship to me,” she said glibly, rolling onto her back. “But hey, if it works…”

Tholomyès propped himself up. “Are you making fun of me?” he asked accusingly.

“Oh no, I’d be much too frightened to tease the Chancellor,” Fantine said innocently, laughing when Tholomyès stuck his tongue out at her.

Tholomyès reached out to tickle her, and Fantine laughed even harder, trying to squirm away from him. “Oh no you don’t,” Tholomyès grumbled, a gleam in his eyes, and for a moment longer, they struggled, both laughing. Then, suddenly, they both went still, Tholomyès straddling Fantine, their faces mere inches apart. “And here we find ourselves again,” Tholomyès said quietly. 

Fantine stared up at him for a long moment, then reached up slowly with slightly trembling fingers. It looked for a moment as if she was going to gently touch his face, but instead, she booped his nose, and Tholomyès instantly recoiled, his nose wrinkling. “What was that?” he asked. 

“A necessary distraction,” Fantine said, using the opportunity to roll away and sit up primly.

Tholomyès sighed and collapsed forward onto the grass. “I thought you said you’d be too frightened to tease me,” he muttered, his voice muffled.

Fantine just laughed, and after a long moment, Tholomyès sat up, sharing a smile with her before the both turned to look out over the water. And if Tholomyès’s hand crept towards hers, and if Fantine let him link his fingers with hers, neither mentioned it.

* * *

  
  
“We modified the genetic structure of the clones to make them less independent than the original host,” Mestienne told Valjean as they walked down the hallway. “As a result, they are totally obedient, taking any order without question.”

Valjean nodded slowly. “And Gribier said the original host was a man named Chabouillet?”

Mestienne nodded. “Correct. He’s a bounty hunter, a Mandalorian. We thought a Jedi would be a perfect choice, but Master Gervais handpicked Chabouillet. He said there was a stubborn streak among the Jedi that might not come out well in clones.”  
  
Valjean hid a satisfied smirk at that, keeping focused on the topic at hand. “And this bounty hunter lives here?”

“Correct. We keep him on hand, since after a few hundred thousand clones, the genetic pattern starts to fade, so we need to keep a fresh supply.” They turned down a shorter hallway lined with doors, and Mestienne’s voice dropped in volume. “He lives here, but he’s free to come and go as he pleases. Apart from his pay, which is considerable, there was only one thing he asked for  **—**  a clone for himself. Unaltered.”

“Unaltered?” Valjean asked.

Mestienne nodded. “Pure genetic replication. No tampering with the docility, and no growth acceleration. He was from the first crop of clones, oh, over twenty years ago now.” She stopped in front of a door. “And here we are now!”

She knocked, and a moment later, the door opened to reveal a tall, thin young man with a flat nose and stubble darkening his cheeks. There was something almost feral in the way he glanced warily out at them. “Javert,” Mestienne said, bowing slightly to him. “Is Chabouillet in?

Javert looked from Mestienne to Valjean and nodded wordlessly, his eyes focused on Valjean, something animalistic in his expression. “May we see him?” Mestienne asked, sensing nothing amiss.

After a long moment, Javert nodded again, and stepped back to let Mestienne and Valjean into the tidy apartment. “Mestienne is here,” Javert called, still watching Valjean closely. “And she brought a guest.”

A man, assumedly Chabouillet, strode from another room, wiping his hands with a rag as he stared at Mestienne and Valjean with narrowed eyes. It took Valjean a moment to see the similarities between Chabouillet and Javert; for a clone, Javert did not immediately resemble his...host. The only thing they shared at first glanced was suspicion, particularly when regarding Valjean.

Mestienne bowed to Chabouillet. “Welcome back,” she said formally. “Was your trip productive?”

Chabouillet shrugged. “Fairly,” he said, still eying Valjean, who met his stare evenly, sizing each other up.

“This is Jedi Master Jean Valjean,” Mestienne told him. “He’s come to check in on our progress.”

If anything, Chabouillet’s glare deepened, but to Valjean’s surprise, Javert’s glare seemed to lessen, something almost like grudging respect flitting across his expression. “Is that right?” Chabouillet asked, arching an eyebrow. “Well, I’ll be glad to answer any questions you have, but I’m really just a simple man trying to make my way in the universe, Master Jedi.”

Valjean snorted. “Aren’t we all?” he said, more to himself than anything, looking past Chabouillet to where he could see a few pieces of body armor strewn across a bed. “So you’ve been travelling, have you? Ever made your way as far into the interior as Paris?”

Chabouillet’s eyes narrowed. “Once or twice.”

“Recently?”

“Perhaps.”

Both men stared at each other, Valjean’s hand inching toward the lightsaber hidden in his robes, while Chabouillet’s seemed to itch toward his side, where a blaster might be holstered. Whether she sensed the tension or was just trying to fill the silence, Mestienne told Chabouillet, “Well, we won’t keep you. I was planning on showing the clones to Master Valjean next.”

“I can do it.”

All three turned in surprise toward Javert, who stared almost defiantly back at them. “I can show Valjean around,” he repeated, scowling slightly. “I know this place even better than the rest of you, and I’d like an opportunity to speak with the Jedi.”

Valjean glanced over at Mestienne, who merely nodded, her expression peaceful, then back at Javert. “I would be...honored if you were to show me around.” He glanced at Chabouillet again and told Javert, “I’ll see you in the hall.”

He and Mestienne trooped out, leaving Javert and Chabouillet and a tense silence between them. “I hope you know what you’re doing,” Chabouillet said stiffly.

Javert looked like he was tempted to roll his eyes, but thought better of it. “I’m just showing him around,” he said. “You know that I’ve always wanted to meet a Jedi **—**  well, this is my chance. It’s not a big deal.”

With that, he left, leaving Chabouillet staring after him, troubled.

* * *

 

Valjean glanced over at Javert, his expression carefully neutral as he appraised the silent young man. For all his enthusiasm at taking Valjean on this tour, thus far he had offered nothing, not even mild pleasantries to break the monotony. Wordlessly, he opened a door and stepped back to allow Valjean through first. “Thank you,” Valjean said automatically, though his jaw dropped as soon as he walked in.

“Magnificent, aren’t they?” Javert asked as he followed Valjean inside, smiling slightly as he leaned on the ledge of the balcony.

Valjean could do nothing more than nod slowly as he stared down at thousands upon thousands of white-clad troops, faces covered in helmets, marching in formations of several hundred on a massive platform. “They’re all...clones?” he managed, glancing sideways at Javert, who looked significantly less overwhelmed.

Javert nodded. “Yes, all identical DNA, with some...modifications.” He straightened and beckoned for Valjean to follow him, leading him through another door and onto a balcony that this time overlooked hundreds of clones in a cafeteria, eating.

“Yes, about that, Mestienne mentioned growth acceleration?” Valjean asked.

Nodding again, Javert led Valjean into the next room, which looked down into a classroom filled with identical boy clones. “Growth acceleration is essential,” he told Valjean, sounding almost bored, as if he had heard about this more times than he cared to admit. “Otherwise, a mature clone would take a lifetime to grow. With acceleration, it takes about a third of the time. The clones you saw on the parade ground were started seven years ago, and they’re already mature.” He nodded down at the boys. “These are about two years old.”

Valjean glanced over at him. “What about the clones from your, um, from when you were born?”

Javert made a face. “You mean from my crop of clones?” He looked over at Valjean, dispassionate. “It’s easier if you don’t think of them as human. They’re clones. They’re not born, they’re harvested. Every piece of them that would have made them individuals has been tampered with or destroyed.”

Valjean frowned slightly, examining Javert closely. “But not you,” he said, carefully.

“Sorry?” Javert asked, his brow furrowing.

“You were not tampered with, from what I understand. And while I would argue that all your brothers are as human as I, you most definitely are.”

Javert’s eyes flickered slightly, and he looked back at the children, his expression turning brooding. “Sometimes I think it’d be easier to be a true clone,” he said quietly. “They’re...superior, capable of independent thought and action while still following orders completely and with no fear.”

Valjean’s frown deepened. “And you believe being fearless and completely obedient is ideal?”

Snorting, Javert shook his head. “Do you know anything about Mandalorians?” he asked.

Valjean blinked, surprised. “The warrior clan? Only a little, what I’ve learned through interactions and brief history lessons. But I don’t **—** ”

“Chabouillet is Mandalorian,” Javert said quietly. “He raised me under their beliefs, which includes the glory of battle. He might be satisfied with a life as a bounty hunter and DNA-supplier for the best soldiers in the galaxy, but I want to _be_ one of the best soldiers in the galaxy.” He shook his head again, then glanced back at Valjean. “I used to pretend I was a Jedi,” he admitted quietly.

If possible, Valjean looked even more surprised. “Why?” he asked, though he quickly realized that was the wrong question. “That is to say, if you wanted to be a soldier, Jedi couldn’t be more opposite. We’re peacekeepers, dedicated to stopping wars, not fighting them.”

Javert smiled slightly. “But there is honor in that,” he said quietly. “Honor, respect, dedication to duty...how could I _not_ want to be a Jedi?”

Valjean smiled as well, though there was something sad in his smile. “If honor and dedication are what you seek, then you don’t need to be a Jedi to achieve that. Anyone can achieve honor regardless of profession provided they live their lives honorably. And you…” He trailed off for a moment. “From what I have seen, there should be nothing stopping you from living your life honorably.”

For a moment, Javert just looked at him, then he moved, as if to close the space between them, but Valjean, realizing what was about to happen, quickly stopped him, placing a hand on his chest. “Javert,” he said quietly. 

Javert pulled back, his expression falling. “I thought **—** ” he started, but Valjean shook his head.

“I can’t,” he told Javert quietly. “And it’s not because…” He paused and took a calming breath before continuing, “The dedication to duty that you so admire in the Jedi includes dedication to the Jedi Code, which forbids...this.” He paused again before adding, even quieter than before, “I’m sorry.”

Though a brief look of hurt flashed across Javert’s face, he nonetheless nodded and pulled away. “I understand,” he said, and managed a slight smile. “I can’t really hold that against you”

Valjean smiled slightly and bowed to Javert, turning to leave but feeling Javert’s eyes still on him. With only a moment of hesitation, Valjean turned back, his expression set, and he crossed to Javert and kissed him, a brief, searing kiss, over as quickly as it started. Then he turned again and left for good.

* * *

 

“I have successfully made contact with the prime minister of Rennes,” the hologram of Valjean shouted above the rains just visible in the background, his voice crackling, and Myriel and Magloire exchange dark glances as he continued, “They are using a bounty hunter named Chabouillet to create a clone army. I have a strong feeling that this bounty hunter is the assassin we are looking for.”

Magloire leaned forward. “Do you think these cloners are involved in the plot to assassinate the Chancellor?”

The hologram of Valjean shook its head. “No, Master, there appears to be no motive.”

“Do not assume anything,” Myriel told him sharply. “Clear your mind must be if you are to discover the real villains behind this plot.”

Valjean nodded. “Yes, Master.”

Myriel glanced back at Magloire before adding, “Who this bounty hunter is working for...discover that, we must. Bring him here. Question him, we will.”

Valjean bowed, the hologram already beginning to fade out. “Yes, Master. I will report back when I have him.” 

The hologram disappeared and Myriel and Magloire looked at each other. “Blind, we are, if creation of this clone army we could not see,” Myriel said quietly.

Magloire nodded slowly. “I think it is time to tell the Senate that our ability to use the Force is diminished.” 

“Only the Dark Lord of the Sith knows of our weakness,” Myriel said darkly. “If informed the Senate is, multiply, our adversaries will.” 

* * *

 

Sneaking through the gleaming city was quite easy -- Valjean saw no more people on his trek back towards Chabouillet’s apartment than he had following Mestienne earlier. But As he approached the rooms, he could tell that something was wrong, and he paused, closing his eyes and focusing for a brief moment before turning on heel and darting away.

He made for a landing pad on the far side of the city, busting through the door into the pouring rain and towards the large, scarred spaceship in the center of the platform, where Javert was helping Chabouillet load the ship. “But I don’t understand why we **—** ” Javert was saying, though he broke off when he saw Valjean sprinting towards them, his brow furrowing. “Valjean?”

Chabouillet didn’t hesitate, drawing his blaster and spinning to fire several rapid blasts at Valjean, who instantly had his lightsaber ignited and in his hand to deflect the shots.

“What are you doing?” Javert demanded, though whether it was to Valjean or Chabouillet, no one knew, and Chabouillet was the one who responded, gesturing impatiently at Javert. 

“Get in the ship!” he ordered, and after only a moment’s hesitation, Javert obeyed, clambering into the ship.

With Javert out of the way, Valjean darted toward Chabouillet, swinging his lightsaber, but Chabouillet ignited the rockets on his armor suit, hovering in the air. Valjean shot forward, clipping a piece of Chabouillet’s armor from his shoulder and sending the Mandalorian shooting backwards, though he still managed to get a few shots off at Valjean.

Chabouillet swooped towards Valjean, who raised his lightsaber into a defensive position a second too late  **—**  Chabouillet managed to kick the weapon out of Valjean’s hand. The lightsaber skid across the wet surface of the landing pad, and Valjean dove after it, but Chabouillet got there first, landing in front of him and picking up the weapon.

Valjean did not hesitate, delivering a blow to Chabouillet’s hand, forcing him to drop the lightsaber. They were too close together for Valjean to grab the lightsaber, let alone use it, so instead, they turned to blows, punching, kicking and grappling with each other. Without warning, Chabouillet shot up into the air, Valjean just managing to grab him around the waist, and was pulled up with Chabouillet, who kicked out at him, trying to knock him loose.

For a moment, it looked as if he wouldn’t be able to, but then he managed to hit Valjean in between his neck and shoulder blade, and Valjean dropped like a stone, hitting the side of the platform and disappearing over the edge.

Chabouillet did not wait to see if he would reemerge, instead darting into the spaceship, which took off moments late. After several minutes, a hand suddenly clutched the very edge of the platform, scrabbling for grip. After another long moment, another hand grabbed hold, and Valjean pulled himself up, completely drenched and shaken. He looked up, watching the ship disappearing into the sky, and sighed. “Well,” he said, to no one in particular, “thank goodness I planted that tracker on Javert when I had a chance.”

* * *

 

Chabouillet’s ship dropped out of lightspeed just out of orbit from a large, red planet circled by an asteroid field. “Nîmes,” Javert announced, looking over at Chabouillet, his expression stoic. “I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me now what is going on, or what the hell happened back on Rennes?”

Glancing over at him, Chabouillet shook his head. “Look, I know how you feel about the Jedi, but this is bigger than that.” He reached out and grabbed Javert’s wrist, squeezing it slightly. “You know how important this army is,” he said quietly, and after a long moment, Javert nodded. “I couldn’t have this rogue Jedi messing up everything we’ve worked for.” He paused before adding, his voice a little rough, “Besides, he’s dead now, and we don’t have to worry about it anymore.”

“Uh, I wouldn’t quite say that,” Javert murmured, pointing at the scope. “Ship, incoming, and fast. Toulon-class, looks a Jedi ship.” He looked over at Chabouillet, a grim smile crossing his face. “Guess he’s not as dead as we thought.”

Chabouillet looked grim, grabbing the controls and forcing the ship into a steep drive. “Hang on,” he said, through clenched teeth. The pursuing ship followed, and a dogfight ensued. The ships flipped, rolled and turned at incredible speed, dodging and weaving between the asteroids as the lead ship sought to shake its pursuer. Just went it seemed the trailing ship was gaining the upper hand, Chabouillet deftly maneuvered his ship through the slim space between two asteroid. “That Jedu won’t be able to follow us through that!” he said triumphantly.  
  
Sure enough, the other ship seemed to disappear, and Chabouillet’s ship reemerged from the asteroid belt alone, zooming towards the surface of Nîmes. “We won’t see him again,” Chabouillet said, flipping a switch on the dashboard and completely missing the look that crossed Javert’s face as they began to make their descent.

But as the largest asteroid slowly turned in orbit, Valjean’s ship was revealed, perched on the asteroid and ready to continue following them onto the planet’s surface.

* * *

 

Inside of the Jedi Temple, Valjean’s hologram now flickered in a Galactic Senate conference room, with Myriel, Magloire, Baptistine and a number of Senators, including Senator Lamarque of Saint-Sever, in attendance, along with a hologram of Chancellor Tholomyès, who looked unusually serious. “Starships from the Trade Federation and Commerce Guilds are taking deliveries of battle droids from the foundries on Nîmes,” Valjean reported, his robes drawn close around him.

“That’s outrageous!” Lamarque exclaimed. “The blockade peace treaty explicitly forbids the Trade Federation from creating an army. What are they doing?”

The hologram of Valjean shrugged. “The droid foundry appears to be working at full capacity. I am going to go down and investigate once it’s light, and I will bring Chabouillet back for interrogation.”  
  
Tholomyès’s hologram cleared its throat. “The Nîmes foundries are part of the Techno Unions. Someone from the Senate should call in their representatives and ask a few, shall we say, pointed questions.”

Nods were given from all of the Senate members, and Myriel glanced back at Valjean. “Careful, Master Valjean, you must be,” he advised. “Less than routine, this investigation has become. If help you need, merely ask you must.”

Valjean bowed low. “Let me see if I can figure out what’s going on first,” he said, and the hologram disappeared.

Lamarque leaned forward, his expression grave. “The Commerce Guilds are preparing for war, of that there can be no doubt, and we need to stop the before they’re fully ready.” He glanced around at his fellow Senators. “We need this clone army now!”

Victurnien shook her head. “Unfortunately, the Senate will not be able to convene and approve the use of that army before the separatists attack. Unless…” She trailed off, looking around before adding, something sly in her voice, “If the Senate votes the Chancellor emergency powers, he could approve the use of the army instantly.” 

Tholomyès’s voice was sharp. “And if I don’t want emergency powers?” he asked. “That’s too extreme a solution, especially with me in Toulouse. It’s akin to a dictatorship. We must rely on the Jedi.” The hologram turned towards Myriel. “Master Myriel, how many Jedi are available to go to Nîmes?”

Myriel and Magloire exchanged glances. “Two hundred, less or more,” Myriel said reluctantly. “Two hundred, send we will. Enough, let’s hope they are.”

There was a shocked silence before Lamarque said what they were all thinking. “With all due respect for the Jedi, two hundred will be no match for hundreds of thousands of battle droids!”

Magloire leaned forward. “Patience,” she said sternly. “We should wait for Valjean to report back. Any thoughts that the Corporate Alliance has made a treaty with the separatists or Count Bamatabois are mere speculation.”

“But we must prepare for the worst,” Lamarque said, sitting back in his seat. “I’m going to propose a motion granting emergency powers to the Chancellor at the next session. We must not wait!”

The hologram of Tholomyès bowed his head before saying lowly, “If called upon, I will serve. But I love democracy...I love this Republica. The fact that this crisis is demanding I be given absolute power does not negate the fact that I am mild by nature and have no desire to destroy the democratic process. I will lay down this power with this crisis has abated, I promise you. And all I ask in return is when my current term of office is over, you allow me to retire and live out my life in peace.”

Back on Toulouse, Fantine reached out to take Tholomyès’s hand, squeezing it gently, just out of sight of the hologram. She could just see the senators standing up and bowing before the hologram faded out. “Did you really mean it?” she asked. 

Tholomyès glanced over at her. “Meant what?” he asked.

“Meant that you wanted to retire, live out your life in peace.”

Smiling slightly, Tholomyès shrugged. “Perhaps,” he said quietly. “If I had the right person to spend my life in peace with.”

Fantine’s smile fell, and she turned to the computer monitors, glancing at the read out. She shook her head. “They’ll never get to Nîmes in time,” she murmured, pointing out the location on the map. “They’ll have to come halfway across the galaxy. But look, Nîmes is less than a parsec away.”

Tholomyès looked at Fantine, something flickering in his expression. “Then what are you waiting for?” he asked. “Surely you’re not just going to sit here and let Valjean die or get captured. He’s your friend, your mentor…”

“He’s like my father,” Fantine said quietly, clearly conflicted as she glanced back at the star map. “But I’m under strict orders to stay here, orders that I can’t break.”

Tholomyès snorted. “Sure, more orders you can’t break.” He stopped, his expression turning resolute. “But the orders you were given weren’t to stay here. They were to protect me.” He stood, looking down at Fantine, something like triumph on his face. “And I’m going to Nîmes. So if you plan to protect me, you’re just going to have to come along.”

* * *

 

The starship landed on the surface of Nîmes, and Tholomyès reached out to flip off the engine before standing. From the pilot’s seat, Fantine glanced up at him. “Where are you going?” she asked. 

“To find Valjean,” Tholomyès said, arching an eyebrow at her. “And before you tell me that it’s too dangerous, remember that I’m the Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Senate, and you have no authority to contain me, restrain me, or direct me, so either you can come along and protect me or stay here. It’s up to you.”

Fantine stood slowly, her expression blank. “I wasn’t going to say any such thing,” she said quietly, meeting his eyes. “I was going to say, ‘I’m coming with you’.”

Tholomyès looked surprised for a moment, then nodded. “Alright,” he said. “Then let’s go.”

Together they disembarked the ship, Tholomyès drawing his blaster while Fantine ignited her lightsaber, her eyes dark as she glanced around suspiciously. “Where is everyone?” she asked quietly as they headed towards the city. “Surely someone must have seen us land. Shouldn’t there be a welcoming party or **—** ” She broke off as a dozen guards emerged from the shadows, their spears aimed directly at them. 

“ **—** Or a city guard?” Tholomyès finished wryly, holding up his hands in surrender as the guards closed in on them.

Fantine shot him a look, but before she could say anything, another figure emerged from the darkness, wearing a strange, narrow-brimmed hat and a large, dark cloak. Half of his face seemed made of robotics, the metal gleaming in the dim light, but Fantine would have recognized those features anywhere. “Count Bamatabois.”

Bamatabois glanced over at her, looking amused, but then switched his gaze to Tholomyès. “Chancellor Tholomyès. I’m delighted to meet you at last.We have a great deal to discuss  **—**  provided you can keep your young Jedi under control.”

Fantine’s eyes blazed, and she started forward, but Tholomyès reached out and grabbed her arm, holding her back. “Don’t worry,” he spat. “She’s housebroken, which is more than I can say for you.”

Bamatabois just laughed and gestured to the guards, who circled Tholomyès and Fantine, prodding them forward as they followed him into the city. “Housebroken?” Fantine asked in an undertone, and Tholomyès just looked over and winked before reaching out and taking her hand.

In what seemed like both an eternity and no time at all, they were led to one of the grandest buildings in the city and ushered into a sort of conference room, where Tholomyès was sat across from Bamatabois and the bounty hunter that Fantine could only assume was Chabouillet, with another, much younger but almost identical-looking man beside him. Fantine took her place over Tholomyès’s shoulder, glaring across at them as Tholomyès began, “You are holding a Jedi Knight, Jean Valjean. I am formally requesting that you turn him over to me, now.”

Bamatabois leaned forward, looking almost bored. “He has been convicted of espionage, Chancellor, of spying on behalf of _your_ Republic. In just a few hours, he is scheduled to be executed.”

He smiled darkly, and Fantine flinched. “He’s a Jedi Knight!” she exclaimed. “A servant of the Republic! You can’t do that.”

Bamatabois glanced up at her, his smile fading. “We don’t recognize the Republic here,” he said coldly, and looked back at Tholomyès, who had gone very still. “But if Toulouse were to join our Alliance, I could easily entertain your plea for clemency.”

“And if I don’t join your rebellion?” Tholomyès asked quietly. “Would you also execute this Jedi with me?”

Sitting back in his seat, Bamatabois gestured expansively. “I wouldn’t wish to make you join our cause against your will, Chancellor,” he said silkily. “But if you are a rational, honest representative of your people and if you truly want to do what’s in their best interest, you might just consider it. Aren’t you fed up with the Republic, with the same banal arguments wrapped in different details and batted back and forth time and time again? Be honest, Chancellor.”  
  
Tholomyès sat straighter in his seat, his expression cold. “The institution isn’t nearly as broken as you seem to think. And even if it were, the right thing to do would be staying in the Republic and helping to put things right.”

“Pretty words can’t hide your incompetence, Chancellor,” Bamatabois said, smiling slightly. “You’ve promised cuts to the bureaucracy for how long, now, and hasn’t it only grown?” He leaned forward again, all amusement, feigned or otherwise, disappearing from his face. “The Republic cannot be fixed. It is time to start over. It will not be long before the cult of greed, called the Republic, will lose even the pretext of democracy and freedom.”

Tholomyès leaned forward as well. “And I will not forsake what chance there may be of saving it from that future.” He stared at Bamatabois, his expression hardening. “And don’t play the innocent with me, Count Bamatabois. I know of your treaties with the Trade Federation and the Commerce Guilds. What’s happening here is government being bought out by business!”

Bamatabois sighed heavily and sat back in his seat, shaking his head slowly. “Well, I’m sorry to say that without your cooperation, I can do nothing to stop the execution of your friends. And I’m afraid that I would also be unable to stand up against the individuals who have such a strong interest in your demise. I’m sure they will push hard to have you included in the executions.” He gestured toward the guards. “I’m sorry, but if you’re not going to cooperate, I have no choice but to turn you over to the Nîmes for justice. I’ve done all I can for you.”

Tholomyès was yanked roughly out of his chair, Fantine already subdued by a half dozen guards, and he glared at Bamatabois as he snarled, “You are committing an act of war, Count Bamatabois. I hope you are prepared for the consequences.”

Bamatabois just laughed. “The Nîmes build weapons as their primary industry, Chancellor. I think that they’re prepared for anything your Republic can throw at us.” He waved dismissively at the guards. “Your other Jedi friend is waiting for you. Take them to the arena!”

* * *

 

Fantine and Tholomyès were bound to a rickety, open cart, forced to stand in close proximity as they waited to be led out into the arena that they could hear beyond the large doors. Tholomyès looked at Fantine and managed a small smile. “Don’t be afraid,” he said quietly.

“I’m not afraid to die,” Fantine said calmly, staring straight ahead. “I’ve been dying a little bit each day that we’ve spent together.”

Tholomyès frowned at her. “What are you talking about?”  
  
Looking over at him, Fantine smiled, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “I love you.” 

“You **—** what?” Tholomyès said, his brow furrowing. “I thought we decided not to fall in love, that it would destroy our lives…”

“I think our lives are about to be destroyed anyway,” Fantine told him, attempting a joke and not quite reaching it. She sighed and nudged him gently, moving as much as she could with their hands still bound to the railing of the cart. “My love for you makes no sense and goes against everything that I have vowed to uphold, but I don’t care. I truly, deeply love you, and before we die, I want you to know that.” 

Tholomyès did not reply, instead straining against the bonds, managing to lean in just far enough to kiss her. She kissed him back, feeling the tears beginning to run down her face but not caring, and without warning, as they were still kissing desperately, the doors swung open and the cart jolted forward.

They pulled reluctantly apart as the cart trundled into the center of the arena, where Valjean was already chained to a large log. The guards pulled Fantine and Tholomyès off of the cart and chained them to the log, one on either side of Valjean, who frowned at Fantine. “I was beginning to wonder if you had gotten my message,” he said, glib in spite of the circumstances.

“We were on the hologram with the Council, Master,” Fantine said, glancing over at him before adding, a little reluctantly, “And then we decided to come and rescue you.”

Valjean looked from his chained hands back to Fantine. “Oh,” he said, the single syllable containing all the sarcasm and derision he could muster, and Fantine winced. “Well, it looks like you’re doing a good job so far.”

The crowd stopped cheering and all three looked up at the main dais, where Count Bamatabois stood, holding his hands up for silence. “The felons before you have been convicted of espionage against the Sovereign System of Nîmes,” he announced. “Their sentence of death is to be carried out in this public arena henceforth.”

The crowd went wild again, and Valjean and Fantine exchanged dark glances, Fantine putting to words what they were both thinking: “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”  


* * *

 

On the dais, amid the uproar from the crowd, Bamatabois was about to settle into his seat when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned, his expression turning from shock to calculation as he saw who stood there. “Master Magloire,” he said, eyes darting around warily.

“Sorry to interrupt your little party,” Magloire said, her eyes glinting dangerously, and she ignited her own turquoise saber.

“Oh, you’re not interrupting anything,” Bamatabois said pleasantly. “If anything, you’re just in time to see how well your two Jedi have been trained.”

Magloire shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she said lowly. “This party’s over.” She signaled, and at strategic places around the arena there were sudden flashes of light as two hundred Jedi switched on their lightsabers.

Instead of looking surprised or even intimidated, Bamatabois’s lip curled. “Brave, my old friend, but stupid. You’re impossibly outnumbered.”

“Perhaps,” Magloire acknowledged, “but I don’t think so. One Jedi is worth one hundred Nîmes.”

Bamatabois’s smile grew. “It wasn’t the Nîmes I was concerned about. How well do you think one Jedi will hold up against a thousand battle droids?” He gestured, and without warning, thousands of droids began pouring into the arena. Magloire raised her lightsaber, advancing on Bamatabois, only to be stopped by a dozen Nîmes guards. “Go get the prisoners,” Bamatabois ordered Chabouillet, who nodded, taking off and flying into the arena.

After a brief moment’s hesitation, Javert drew his blaster and followed him.

Blaster bolts flew through the air, deflecting off the Jedi’s lightsabers, and one managed to snap the chains holding Valjean. Instantly, he freed himself, grabbing his lightsaber from where he had hidden it in his robes. With one smooth stroke, he cut Fantine and Tholomyès free, telling Fantine roughly, “Keep the Chancellor safe!” before shoving her away.

Chabouillet landed in front of Valjean, his blaster drawn and pointed straight at him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Valjean just raised his lightsaber, and two immediately stepped back into their duel from the landing platform at Rennes. This time, though, with the chaos surrounding them and laser bolts filling the air, any advantage Chabouillet might have had with his armor and his jetpack was severely diminished, and Valjean had calm and determination on his side.

The battle this time was short, with Valjean spinning away from a blast from Chabouillet’s blaster before lunging in and, with one swift move, sliced Chabouillet’s head cleanly off, the helmeted head bouncing away into the dirt as his body collapsed in a heap.

For a brief moment, Valjean just stared at the body, his lightsaber held loosely at his side, then he took a deep breath and started to turn away. He stopped when he saw Javert staring at him, fear and fury mingled on his face. “Javert,” Valjean started, but before he could continue, he was shoved to the side by a guard, and Javert disappeared among the crowd.

While the Jedi seemed to cut down swaths of guards and rank after rank of droids, they just seemed to keep coming, and though Tholomyès had picked up a blaster from a dead guard, he and Fantine were quickly surrounded and herded to the center of the arena, along with the surviving Jedi.  
  
Magloire glanced over her shoulder at the remnants of the Jedi before looking back at Bamatabois, who seemed unconcerned. “Master Magloire,” he said loudly, raising a hand, and surprisingly, the guards and droids all seemed to quiet instantly, lowering their weapons but still pointing them at the surviving Jedi. “You have fought gallantly, all of you. Worthy of recognition in the history archives of the Jedi Order. But now it is finished.” He paused briefly before adding, “If you surrender now, your lives will be spared.” 

Baring her teeth, Magloire snarled, “We will not be hostages for you to barter with, Bamatabois.”

“Then I’m sorry, old friend,” Bamatabois sighed, shaking his head. “You will have to be destroyed.”

Instantly, the droids raised their weapons, and Fantine reached down to grab Tholomyès’s free hand, squeezing it. Tholomyès, however, was busy looking up at the sky, and he pointed with his blaster. “Look!”  
  
Above, six massive gunships descended fast through the open area in the arena ceiling, blasting at the droids. When they landed, clone troopers spilled out of the gunships, opening fire as they did. From the cockpit of the lead gunship, Myriel emerged, gesturing emphatically at the clones. “Hurry, hurry!” he urged.

Instantly, the arena descended into chaos, with droids and guards running in every direction. Bamatabois did not hesitate, slipping away from the arena down a back tunnel. Valjean noticed and pointed at the retreating figure. “Bamatabois!” he shouted.

Baptistine grabbed his arm and pushed him onto one of the gunships. “Go on!” she shouted, and Valjean nodded at Fantine and Tholomyès, who followed him onto the ship. 

Myriel glanced at Magloire, then Baptistine, who was panting. “If escape Bamatabois does, more systems to his side he will gather,” he said, his voice grave, and Magloire nodded. “More battalions there are. Encircle them we must, then divide.”

They boarded their gunship and the ships took off, leaving the arena en masse and dispersing towards the larger Federation Starships with their thousands of droid troops deploying against the dusty red ground.

Inside the now-deserted arena, Javert slowly picked his way around the dead or dying Jedi and guards and the destroyed battle droids, making his way to where Chabouillet’s body lay. He glanced down at it for a long moment before continuing to where Chabouillet’s helmet and head had landed in the dirt. 

He knelt and picked up the helmet, cradling it in his hands as he closed his eyes briefly, leaning forward to rest his forehead against the helmet. When he rocked back on his heels and reopened his eyes, it was with a look of utter conviction on his face and a single name on his lips. “Valjean.”

* * *

 

Valjean’s gunship skimmed the battlefield, picking off fleeing droids while trying to avoid the answering fire from the Federation ships. “Look over there!” Valjean shouted, pointing to where a skiff was zipping over the red dunes, Count Bamatabois clearly visible in the open cockpit.

“It’s Bamatabois!” Fantine exclaimed, leaning into the gunship to shout towards the cockpit, “Go after him!”

The gunship changed course, beginning to pursue, but suddenly, there was a huge blast that caused the ship to lurch dangerously, throwing Tholomyès and two clone troopers out of the open door. “Félix!” Fantine screamed, panicking, and she looked wildly around. “Put the ship down!” she ordered. “We have to get him!” 

Valjean shook his head. “No!” he said sharply. “Forget her. We have to go after Bamatabois.” Fantine shook her head violently, and Valjean continued, “You cannot let your personal feelings get in the way of the job we have to do! And look  **—**  he’ll be all right!”

Sure enough, Tholomyès and the fallen troopers were joined by more troops, who made a perimeter as they were helped to their feet and dusted off. Though Fantine’s panic receded, her eyes were still wide with worry, but Valjean did not seem to notice, instead ordering, “Follow that speeder!”

* * *

 

Inside a hidden hangar, Bamatabois was hastily barking orders into a comlink while preparing his own ship for takeoff. “The Jedi’s army is too large,” he snapped. “We must pull back and live to fight another day.” He heard noise and looked up just in time to see Valjean and Fantine sprint into the hangar. “Now go!”

With that said, he slowly turned to face the two Jedi, drawing his own lightsaber, its red blade shimmering ominously. Valjean glanced over at Fantine, whose expression was still tight and pale. “Slowly,” he cautioned quietly as they approached. “We will move in together.”

“I’m going in now!” Fantine snapped, lurching forward and ignoring Valjean, who shouted, “Fantine, no!”

“You’ll pay for everyone you’ve killed or hurt today!” Fantine snarled, charging across the open space at Bamatabois, who merely smiled faintly, watching dispassionately, watching her come. Fantine raised her lightsaber to attack, and at the last moment, Bamatabois flicked his hand, lifting Fantine up and hurling her across the room to slam into the opposite wall.

Fantine slid to the floor, only semi-conscious, but Bamatabois had already turned to Valjean. “Master Valjean, isn’t it?” Bamatabois asked, slowly circling towards him. “As you can see, my Jedi powers are far beyond yours, so you might as well back down now.”

Valjean smiled, though it looked far more like a grimace. “I don’t think so. You’re going to have to prove it.”

Wordlessly, he lept forward, coming in fast and swinging at Bamatabois’s head. Bamatabois parried the cut easily before launching an offensive of his own. As they battled, their blades moving almost too quickly to be seen, Bamatabois said, sounding almost bored, “Master Valjean, you disappoint me. Myriel holds you in such high esteem. Surely you can do better, or has Jedi swordsmanship degenerated so quickly?”

Valjean danced back out of reach, breathing heavily, but there was strength still in his limbs, and without warning, he gestured at the ceiling of the hangar, using the Force to break off a chunk of metal wall that must have weighed five times what Valjean is, hurling it effortlessly at Bamatabois, who only just managed to duck out of its path.

“My Jedi powers don’t just rely on my lightsaber skills,” Valjean told Bamatabois, something like triumph in his voice.

For a brief moment, Bamatabois looked almost impressed. “Your strength is impressive,” he admitted before adding, “but you’re not the only one with Force abilities.” 

Without warning, lightning shot from Bamatabois’s fingers, striking Valjean in the chest and forcing him backwards, where he tripped and fell, crashing down onto the ground, his lightsaber skittering away. Bamatabois smiled menacingly as he approached, raising his lightsaber to bring it down against the helpless Valjean.

Instead, his lightsaber met Fantine’s, and Bamatabois glanced up, surprised, staring at the Padawan who met his glare evenly. “That’s brave of you, girl,” Bamatabois told her. “Brave, but foolish. I would have thought that youd have learned your lesson.”

Fantine smiled viciously. “What can I say, I’m a slow learner.”

With that, she attacked, the force of her attack catching him off-guard and forcing him backwards. In the fury of her attack, she just managed to nick Bamatabois’s arm, and he pulled back, glancing down at the wound. “You have unusual powers, young Padawan,” he said, something like respect in his tone. “But that won’t be enough to save you this time.”

Bamatabois fought back with fury, now the one to drive Fantine back, parrying her every swing and thrust. Without warning, in one flashing move, Bamatabois brought his lightsaber down and cut off Fantine’s arm at the elbow, sending it and her lightsaber flying away.

Fantine collapsed to the ground in agony, while Bamatabois, looking at her dispassionately, raised his lightsaber to deliver the final blow. Suddenly, the door to the hangar slid open, and Bamatabois turned, frowning.

Slowly, the stooped, small figure of Myriel made his way into the hangar. Bamatabois drew himself up his full height, sneering down at Myriel, who looked calm and collected. “Master Myriel,” Bamatabois said, whirling his lightsaber in a formal salute. “At last we shall know who is the most powerful, you or I.”

Myriel drew his lightsaber as well, its diminutive size matching his own, and he offered his own salute. “Bamatabois,” he said. “No interest in contests, have I.”

Without warning, he struck. For being as old and as small as he was, Myriel was a master with the lightsaber, jumping and leaping and matching every single blow that Bamatabois tried to rain down on him. He did not give up any ground, and Bamatabois for all his tricks and skill could not land a blow. Instead, his strokes became slower, more erratic.

Myriel drove him backward, still moving with all the speed and skill that he possessed, and suddenly managed to disarm Bamatabois, sending his lightsaber spinning away from him. Bamatabois looked frightened for the first time, and Myriel looked at him calmly. “The end for you, this is.”

“Not yet!” Bamatabois managed through gritted teeth, and he raised his arms, using the Force to pull down one of the cranes hanging from the ceiling of the hangar directly above where both Valjean and Fantine lay.

In an instant, Myriel was there, using all of his power in the Force to hold the giant metal structure off the ground. Bamatabois used his distraction to clamber into his ship, starting the engines immediately. Myriel’s eyes closed as he concentrated, slowly shifting the crane away from Valjean and Fantine.

Just as Bamatabois’s ship took off, racing out of the hangar, Myriel sighed heavily and the crane dropped to the ground, mere inches away from Fantine’s prone form. Myriel sighed again and slowly returned his lightsaber to its position on his belt as he turned to watch Bamatabois’s ship disappear from view.

* * *

 

Back on Paris several days later, Valjean winced as he tested his shoulder. The medical droids had done a fine job, but it still twinged. Nonetheless, he joined Magloire and Myriel as they looked down at the plaza below and the thousands of clone troopers forming ranks for the battles to come.

“Where is your apprentice?” Magloire asked, glancing over at Valjean.

Valjean shrugged, then winced again. “She is escorting the Chancellor to his home planet of Toulouse. With the clone army mobilized, the chancellor did not have any urgent business to attend to here.”

Magloire snorted, turning back to the window. “Not even the urgent business of giving up his emergency powers as he promised to do,” she muttered.

Valjean’s brow furrowed slightly at that, and he looked over at Myriel, who seemed almost saddened by the display below. “I must admit that without the clones, it would not have been a victory,” Valjean said. 

Myriel looked up at him, suddenly looking very old and very tired. “Victory?” he scoffed. “Not a victory, that was. A defeat. For begun, the clone war has!”

* * *

 

Bamatabois entered the darkened chamber and bowed to the full-size hologram of the hooded figure. “The Force is with us, Darth Sinistre.”

“You have done well,” Sinistre replied.

Bamatabois chanced a glance up at the hologram. “I bring good news, my Lord,” he said, excitement clear in his tone. “The war has officially begun.”

A smile was just visible on Sinistre’s face, only partially hidden by the hood. “Excellent,” he said, sounding immensely satisfied. “Everything is going as planned.” 

* * *

 

A sudden knock on the door to Tholomyès’s quarters on the ship seemed to startle him, if the look on his face when Fantine let herself in was any indication. “Are you alright?” she asked.

He managed a smile, sitting up in his bed. “Fine, just tired. Declaring war is tiring work. Besides, I should be asking you that.” He nodded towards her arm. “How is the prosthetic doing?” 

Fantine smiled and raised the arm in question, the robotic limb responding perfectly to her every command. “Quite well, actually,” she said, coming further into his quarters and frowning at him slightly. “Why are you wearing a cloak?”

“It gets cold in space,” Tholomyès said, eyes narrowing. “And I assume that you didn’t come here just to question my wardrobe.”

Taking a deep breath, Fantine said, “You are correct. I  **—**  I wanted to talk to you. About...about us. I want **—** ” She broke off, looking frustrated, and instead surged forward to kiss him, pushing him back onto his bed as she did.

Almost automatically, he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her down to him, his hands tugging at her Jedi robes to slide underneath, to skim the smooth, untouched skin. Suddenly, he stopped, staring at her, his eyes searching hers. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice rough. “Are you sure this is what you want?” 

“I want this,” she said simply, her voice clear and commanding. “I want you.”

If Tholomyès had any other protest, it was lost as Fantine kissed him again, and Tholomyès did nothing further to stop her, instead rolling them over so that he could take charge, deepening the kiss as he steadily worked to divest her of her clothes and to have her as a husband would have a wife, consequences and the Jedi Code be damned.


End file.
